


Private Reserve

by currency



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 11:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/currency/pseuds/currency
Summary: Eliza was the best thing that ever happened to me. But she's a good girl, and I have a side that is far too dark for a politician's daughter. When she started talking about plans after graduation, the only thing I could do was run back to the Caribbean—to protect her from me. But she's back in my life, and I need a wife before I can take full ownership of our failing plantation and hotel. Only problem is, I want her again. No way I can put my hands on her. One kiss, one taste, could unleash the side of me that would only scare her.If she discovers my dark side, I don't know if she'll flee back to the states, or surrender to me. What she doesn't know is she already owns me, and if she leaves, I'll never be the same.





	Private Reserve

**Eliza**

Why, again, am I doing this?  
Oh right, because of that long-ago stupid New Years Eve party where I, along with a group of my best friends, decided to celebrate the second half of our twenties in an epic way.  
Just how epic, you ask?  
Oh, let’s just say we’re to go on an adventure and not come home until we’ve had legendary sex—delicious, salacious, rough and dirty, “bang me against the wall and leave me bruised” sex. Well, that’s the kind I want anyway. But sadly, I see no glimmer of anything quite so wicked in my dull future.  
That fateful night two years ago, my sister Angelica, the most adventurous and imaginative of us, decided we should all put our names in a hat then draw one out, keeping it a secret. On the month of your twenty-fifth birthday, whoever pulled your name would send you a dossier detailing an entire destination adventure designed specifically for you.  
A half a bottle of champagne later—okay, three-quarters of a bottle and four Jell-O shots—putting my name in a hat for a sexy endeavor seemed like a good idea, a fun thing to do. Then again, so did all those shots of Patron. Until I woke up half dead with a damn headache, bloodshot eyes, and my bed as cold as the liquor I’d consumed.  
Why is it I feel like I’m going to wake up the same way after this journey?  
“You okay back there?” the cabbie asks in a thick Caribbean accent.  
Shit, when had the vehicle stopped? “Yeah, thanks.” I look at the meter, do a quick mental conversion, and hand over three-hundred East Caribbean dollars. Tote bag and purse in hand, I open the door and breathe in the fragrant county air as I exit.  
On a white wooden swing at the side of the sprawling Caribbean resort, an elderly couple sips wine and waves to me as I fully commit to this adventure. Go me! Near them, another older couple slowly walks the shrub-lined path toward what looks to be a cocktail tasting area. I scan the bar and see nothing but a sea of silver hair. Dammit, the place looks more like a retirement home than a hot spot for a hook-up.  
I turn when my driver pulls my suitcase from the trunk and sets it beside my Jimmy Choos. The shoes are a secret indulgence, one I can’t really afford on the salary of the entry-level marketing job where I seem to be stuck, thanks to the boys’ club mentality at Resolve Solutions. What a way to put my hard earned business degree to use. When I get home, I seriously have to start looking for something else, despite my affection for a steady paycheck, no matter how small it is. A disgruntled groan rises in my throat. Like finding another marketing job in an overcrowded workforce is such an easy task.  
Late summer sunshine spills over me as the cabbie slides into the front seat and drives away. Dust kicks up behind the vehicle, and I push those depressing thoughts out of my head for the time being, choosing instead to admire the gorgeous plantation sprawled before me—calm, tranquil, historic…absolutely breathtaking.  
So why, again, am I here for a three-week beachside getaway—in a place clearly populated with geriatrics—when the girl sponsoring my trip could have sent me to a London strip joint with hot, naked, _young_ men? _Le sigh._ My older sister Angelica often goes to London on business, and from some of his stories, I so want to go someday.  
Maybe I’ll send Peggy to a club next month when I prepare her dossier. I’d been saving for months now, determined to give her something spectacular. I don’t care if she’s shy and introverted. At least one of us girls should have a hot guy gyrating on her at some point in her life, right? I’m sure, in the end, she’ll thank me for it.  
_My_ sponsor, however… I’m 100 percent certain I won’t be thanking her for anything. Seriously, though, did she expect me to hook up with some grandpa? I’ll be twenty-five this month, not ninety. Clearly, I need a new friend, one who knows me and understands what I want.  
_You never tell anyone what you want._  
Yeah, yeah, whatever.  
I exhale an exaggerated breath, pick up my suitcase and make my way along the path leading to the hotel. I shade my eyes from the afternoon sun and look off into the distance, my heels clicking on the walkway as I take in the rows of ackee lining the hillside. A sweet, citrusy smell reaches my nose, and I breathe it in. Then I nearly jump out of my heels when a cannon sounds off, not too far from where I’m standing. What the hell! A frightened flock of birds takes flight, and understanding dawns. The noise protects the fruit from unwanted inhabitants. Good. The more sugarcane for the molasses, the more rum for me. Since it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have the kind of sex I crave while on a trip that can only be described as a snooze fest, at least there’ll be plenty to drink.  
From the corner of my eye I catch movement and angle my head to see a hot guy with an afro, dressed in ripped jeans and a snug T-shirt, walking around the side of the building. A hot _young_ guy. Well then, perhaps I’d been too judgy of the place. Mr. Hottie is looking around, glancing over his shoulder, and scoping out the plantation like he’s up to no good.  
Interesting. If I weren’t so damn exhausted, I’d follow him, but four hours of flying has pretty much done me in. That doesn’t mean after a good night’s sleep I won’t seek him out, see what kind of trouble he’s up to—see what kind we can get in together.  
Damned if this trip isn’t starting to look up.  
Feeling a little happier with this whole set up, I step into the warm lobby of the plantation, now converted to a hotel. The sun beams in the windows, heating the place up to a bazillion degrees. I take note of the elderly gentleman with gray hair behind the check-in counter. I’m kind of tired after the long flight from New York, so I’m really hoping my room is ready. Then again, it’s not like the place is bustling. I spin around and catalog the empty lobby. When I turn back to the man behind the counter and meet chocolate-brown eyes, my heart gives a little jolt, and I can’t help but think of _him_.  
_The guy I still love._  
The guy I never, ever want to see again.  
_The guy I’d do anything to see again._  
I shake my head to clear my thoughts.  
Nope, not thinking about my ex—ever again.  
“Elizabeth Schuyler,” I say, stepping up to the smiling man behind the counter.  
“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” The man pulls a sheet of paper from a manila folder, and an arthritic hand slides it across the countertop to me. “Please fill in your information and sign in here.”  
I do as he asks, and he hands me a key. Not the electronic kind used in the states. No, this metal key is vintage, and as big as my hand. While I love modern amenities, like air conditioning, I kind of dig the rustic charm of the key. Despite all my complaining, the place does hold a certain appeal. If they kept it old school and added a few modern touches, they might be able to draw a younger crowd. I smile as I envision the changes I’d make to appeal to my generation, then shake my head. If only Revolve Solutions would give me a chance to prove myself, let me show them what I can do.  
“We put you in the private cottage at the base of Sapodilla.”  
“Sapodilla?”  
His smile is gentle and warm as he waves toward the window showcasing his beautiful estate. “There are many different fruits grown here, and your accommodation is at the base of where the Sapodilla are grown. They’re coming on ripe, so feel free to taste a few before they’re harvested.” The man comes around the counter to help me with my bag, but I hold my hand up to stop him.  
“I got it,” I say, partly because I’m an independent woman, and partly because the guy is fifty years past retirement age.  
He nods and hands me a map of the plantation and buildings, and points to the location of my room. I head back outside and hoof it to the other side of the estate, my over packed bag difficult to maneuver on the old cobblestone walkways. A yawn pulls at me when I finally make it to my cottage, and I jiggle the key into the lock and step into the room. First impression: nice, clean, simple. My gaze moves over the dresser, dinette table, kitchenette, and small bathroom on the main level, then slides up to take in the double bed in the upstairs loft, along with a balcony. I snort. With my luck, I’ll probably drink too much rum and end up falling down the damn stairs and breaking my neck on the way to the bathroom.  
I drop my luggage, drag my tired ass up the five steps, and peel open the curtains to reveal a spectacular view of the plantation. It really is remarkable. I crack the door and breathe in the fresh salty air, but I go still when I hear two male voices below my window. Gruff. Angry. Incensed. My body tightens. Are they fighting? Nosey girl that I am, I push the door open a bit more and quietly step out, but what I see has my breath catching and heat exploding inside me.  
No. Frigging. Way.  
As the two men grab at each other—their hands tugging, groping; their lips crashing, devouring—I stand there immobilized, unable to move, breathe, or think with any sort of clarity.  
Oh. My. God. This has to be the hottest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.  
Knees locked, I stare, mesmerized by the way they clutch at each other. So needy. So damn hungry. I recognize Mr. Hottie from earlier, but the other guy has on a hat that masks his features.  
The hat’s bill covers the man’s face, and his voice is so deep and gruff with arousal it’s hard to make out what he’s saying. But the way he’s gripping his lover’s hair, angling his head for a deeper kiss as he thrusts his tongue inside, is the hottest freaking thing I’ve ever witnessed. Holy hell, the way they want each other, grabbing and tugging to get closer, the raw neediness of it all, just about has me orgasming. I grip the metal rail as heat charges to my sex, my nipples puckering so hard they poke through my lace bra, demanding attention.  
Blue Hat breaks the kiss. “Down on your knees,” he demands, shoving hard on Mr. Hottie’s shoulder. The man sinks to his knees obediently, his face inches from the guy’s bulging crotch.  
My entire body breaks out in a sweat, and I quiver from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I sip air quietly, my heart crashing, my eyelids fluttering, unable to believe what I’ve stumbled upon. What I’m doing is wrong and I should go inside to give them the privacy they deserve, and are clearly seeking, but I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. Who knew I was such a voyeur?  
Blue Hat rips into his jeans, popping the button and drawing the zipper down. The sound cuts through the quiet of the fields, but I’m breathing so hard by this point I’m worried they’re going to hear me. As I squeeze my legs, my swollen clit rubs against my panties and I want to touch myself, to get off as I watch them get each other off.  
Blue Hat grips the other man’s chin. “Open that pretty mouth of yours,” he commands. His hat tilts, angles to the side like he’s questioning something. “You do want to suck my cock, don’t you?”  
Dimples flash on Mr. Hottie’s face. “Yes,” he murmurs, then he widens his mouth, inviting his friend in.  
“That’s so fucking nice,” Blue Hat says, brushing his thumb over the man’s bottom lip. “Tell you what. You suck me real good, show me how much you want my cock, and then maybe I’ll bend you over and fuck you like those brown eyes are begging me to.”  
Mr. Hottie groans as Blue Hat shackles one of his wrists and brings his hand to his cock. He keeps his hand locked on the guy’s arm and follows the motion as he jerks him off. Pre-cum glistens on his crown, and Mr. Hottie leans in, licking the salty treat from the man’s gorgeous, bulbous head, sliding his tongue along the slit to get every last drop. Blue Hat growls and jerks forward, shoving his cock to the back of Mr. Hottie’s throat. The guy chokes. No freaking wonder.  
“Open your throat. Take it deeper,” he orders, his hands fisting in the man’s hair, and urging him on. “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how much you want me to fuck that sweet hole of yours.”  
My sex is throbbing, my clit demanding attention. Unable to help myself, I slip my hand into my jeans, and touch myself. I bite my bottom lip to stifle a cry of pleasure. Never having been so turned on in my life, I rub furiously, and my muscles clench. Dammit, I need to slow down, or I’m going to shatter into a million pieces, and I’m just not ready for this to be over. I use a softer touch, wanting to draw out every second, and rock my hips in much the same manner as Blue Hat.  
“Look at you. Such a greedy bastard. Taking me so deep because you want your ass fucked.”  
I whimper then clamp my hand over my mouth. Shit. I feel a quick flash of panic, but the two guys are so lost in each other, they don’t hear me. Thank God. If they stop now, I might just die.  
Blue Hat pumps his cock. For some reason, I find it incredibly hot that he doesn’t even bother to push his pants down. Zipper open at the front, his jeans hug his perfect ass in the back as he fucks his friend’s mouth. My throat dries, dying for a taste, dying for him to make demands of me like that while I’m on my knees.  
While I’m happy for the two guys, and I really am, I’m also kind of jealous. That’s the kind of passion I want to experience, the way I want to be talked to. Just once in my life, I want a man to devour me like that, to unleash himself on me…to demand I do things.  
“That’s enough,” Blue Hat grunts, his rough voice low, nothing more than a whisper that drifts up to my ears in the quiet countryside. “Let me into that tight hole of yours.”  
Mr. Hottie goes back on his heels, and the man’s huge cock slips from his mouth. With the back of his big hand, he wipes away the wet evidence glistening on his face and smiles up at the man he clearly adores. He unzips his pants, and shoves them to his knees, to expose his own big cock. “Turn around,” Blue Hat growls. I can feel Mr. Hottie’s excitement as he turns and goes down on all fours. Blue Hat wets his finger and slips it in his backside.  
“Fuck yeah,” Mr. Hottie says loudly, and Blue Hat slaps his ass.  
“Jesus Christ, Laf. Do you want the fucking world to know what we’re doing?”  
_Laf._  
“Just fuck me already, then.”  
“Aww, what’s the matter?” he asks as he spits on his finger and works another in, stretching the man and preparing him for his girth. “You’ve been hurting for my cock?” His voice is so low and deep I have to strain to hear.  
“You know I have.” He grunts and shifts on his knees. “You’ve been so busy we don’t get a fucking minute alone anymore.”  
A bird flies overhead and slows, like it, too, wants a piece of the action. I give it a brief glance then concentrate on the act below, not wanting to miss a damn thing. Blue Hat finishes with the foreplay, grabs his cock in his big hand and grunts as he strokes it, once, twice, three times. On his knees, Mr. Hottie is working his own cock while the man about to ram home rips into a condom, sheathes himself and positions his crown at the opening. His ass clenches as he eases forward, offering only an inch at a time, and both men moan in bliss.  
“Please,” Mr. Hottie begs.  
“You need me, Laf?”  
“Yes,” he murmurs and rears back, trying to get the man in deeper.  
Blue Hat groans and presses down on Mr. Hottie’s back to prevent him from moving. “Stay still,” he commands through gritted teeth, letting the other man know exactly who’s in charge of the depth and penetration.  
And that is some very hot shit.  
I lean farther over the rail and tremble from head to toe as the men fuck, coveting each other with a ferocity I’ve never seen before, but have always wanted. Blue Hat runs his hands through the other man’s hair, fisting it and pulling his head back as he angles his body to get his cock in deeper. He seats himself high inside then pulls almost all the way out, only to slam back in again. Grunts and groans echo in my ears, and his hips jerk faster, with hard, blunt strokes that reach a maddening pace.  
I’m dying. Seriously dying of lust overload here. Honest to God, I’m going to have to start watching man on man porn. The genuine way these guys want each other…well, that’s seriously inspiring, and totally mind blowing.  
I caress my clit, strum it like a finely tuned instrument, and my entire body goes up in a burst of flames as heat burns through my blood. I mouth the word yes, not daring to speak and break the moment as tension builds inside me. I apply more pressure to my clit and stroke harder, reaching a fevered pitch that has me soaring over the edge. Every muscle in my body clenches. My orgasm so powerful and blinding, I sink to my knees and lean forward to ride out the pleasure.  
I stay like that for a long time, working to catch my breath as groans and a lot of curses reach my ears. When I’m finally able to see again, I peek down to catch Blue Hat throwing his head back. He’s gripping the guy’s hips for leverage and depleting himself inside.  
“So fucking good,” he groans.  
The man on his knees shoots into his hand, then they both collapse on to the grass, rolling on their backs. I duck away as they break apart, my heart crashing so hard against my chest, I’m sure it’s going to explode. That was…Jesus, I want to say amazing, but that doesn’t even begin to describe the hunger they just displayed.  
I hurry inside, quietly close the door behind me, and collapse on my bed, fanning my arms and legs out, desperate to cool my overheated, needy body. Outside the guys are talking quietly, but I can’t hear their muffled whispers through my closed door. Exhaustion overtakes me, my eyes fall shut, the vision of the two of them groping each other still buzzing through my brain.  
Why on earth can’t I inspire that kind of passion in a guy?  
All I ever get is sweet, gentle lovemaking. I am seriously so tired of the vanilla. Yeah, sure my dad is a conservative politician, but come on, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be forced to my knees and taken hard. If only I had it in me to open my mouth and just ask for what I want. I can’t seem to do it, though. Probably because I’ve been lectured and browbeaten my whole life.  
_Sex is for procreating, Elizabeth. Anything out of the norm is socially unacceptable—wrong._  
Dammit, I want wrong. The whole time I was with _him_ , I’d wanted it wrong. What I wouldn’t have given for my ex to do depraved things with me. But no, he treated me with respect, which meant slow, gentle sex the missionary way. Don’t get me wrong. It was good, but I wanted more…needed more…had a deeper craving to be flipped over and corrupted.  
I quiver as I think about that, and deep between my legs, my sex clenches one last time. Unfortunately, men see me as a nice girl. Respectable. Private and reserved. That’s what you get when you’re the daughter of a proper congressman—a goddamn gentleman in bed.  
I want a savage.  
I want to be turned and twisted. I want to be ravaged and ridden. I want to be made to do things. Dirty things. Like watch two guys make out, then have them both take me—own me.  
So what am I going to do about it?

 


End file.
